


A Stone Thrown Through Glass

by dogtit



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/F, fix it fic for sure, happy ending in sight because i know what i want out of life and its not sad shit!!, self indulgent because im too lazy for an ask blog!, tifa will get short hair in this one because im very gay thank you for coming to my ted talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 08:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogtit/pseuds/dogtit
Summary: Her breath is choking in her throat as she can see what's going to happen in the sliver of an open window.Sephiroth's sword will pierce Aerith through. She'll be claimed as a sacrifice on a makeshift altar, and they can't do anything about it.Like her father. Like Nibelheim.--Tifa bites the bullet to hogtie a happy ending. It's not what you think.





	1. only a stone's throw away

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to justify [this au redesign](https://78.media.tumblr.com/dae4793900964895ba402bd0647b93cc/tumblr_p18yorPYh91r42jbeo1_1280.png) so why not write bite sized tidbits for it instead of an ask blog, because fuck making good decisions heres gay shit

She watches.

Sephiroth descends like a natural disaster. A tornado twisting to touch down in the middle of a village. An earthquake splitting open the foundation and upheaving stone and soil to crush and bury. A tsunami roaring along the horizon. A fire dancing along everything familiar, boiling blood, smoke choking everyone she'd ever known. Her heart is caught between racing out of her chest or falling to the soles of her feet. Her breath is choking in her throat as she can see what's going to happen in the sliver of a window. 

Sephiroth's sword will pierce Aerith through. She'll be claimed as a sacrifice on a makeshift altar, and they can't do anything about it. 

Like her father. Like Nibelheim. 

There's a loose chunk of rubble by her feet, so Tifa throws her body into autopilot, her brain in overdrive. She picks up the stone and runs, chucking it with all the strength in her body, a brick the size of a basketball and she runs, she  _runs_ , leaping from perch to perch in Cloud's footsteps. Cloud, who still stands by Aerith with his sword in his hands, trembling, his eyes full of a lost haze that starts to clear. The stone flies; Tifa runs; time ticks ever onwards. 

She doesn't pause when she hits the bottom of the stairs. She looks up and she sees a mountain. It's been years since she's guided anyone through the spire and stone of Mount Nibel, and Sephiroth was the last of that fate-spit group, but the muscle memory is there. The scar on her chest stretches like old stitches as she takes them two at a time, her hair swinging like a pendulum. Sephiroth pauses only for a moment to deal with her thrown stone; a flick of his wrist and its pulverized to dust. That doesn't matter. What does is that extra second, that half a heartbeat that widens the window, and Tifa barrels through it. 

She lunges and catches Aerith with her full weight, tucking one arm around her head and the other over her waist. Hears the hiss of steel and air as Sephiroth's sword finishes the plunge just centimeters from Tifa's calcaneal tendon. Tuck, roll, dodge. Her arm aches from keeping Aerith's head from striking the hard surface of the stone but she can ignore the bone deep bruise, grateful for the buckler around her elbow to protect her ulnar nerve. The moment they come to a stop Tifa is lifting herself up on hands and knees, then to her feet on trembling legs, one hand locked tight on Aerith's wrist. Aerith, who looks just as confused as Cloud, eyes green and bright and swimming with potent power. Aerith, who Tifa has never quite understood, doesn't think she ever will, doesn't think she has to understand to know that what she saw--that what if, through that window--that cannot happen. Her heart bleeds thinking about it. 

Tifa's close enough to see herself reflected in Aerith's glassy eyes. It means she can see the silhouette of Sephiroth rushing for them, sword drawn back. She pushes them for the open edge, for the water. She isn't fast enough to dodge the full hit. The cold metal of Sephiroth's sword drags itself over her back from hip to shoulder, diagonal, tracing the exact path mapped on her chest. It's deep, Tifa knows, almost to the bone; that her spine isn't severed in that instant is nothing short of a miracle. The pain follows like an explosion, a gunshot, and she slides a little on her waterfall rush of blood, shoes slipping on crimson. 

Tifa digs in deep, wraps her arms around Aerith's waist with one shoulder digging into her stomach as Tifa jumps for the edge. From the corner of her eye she can see Sephiroth's sword whipping over her other shoulder; the very tip sinks into the exposed part of Aerith's chest, but by then even his reach is useless. By then, they're falling over the edge for the water. By then, the pain's shocked Aerith's eyes back to clarity; she sucks in a breath, but doesn't scream, and Tifa's eyes snap shut as she adjusts them midair, taking the brunt of the dive. 

They sink. It's so quiet, in the water. Cold. Peaceful, even. Aerith's eyes are shut and her mouth parted gently. She almost looks asleep. Her braid unravels in the water, ribbon fluttering free; that funny, pretty Materia bobs out. Tifa's fingertips graze it, thinking distantly,  _Gotta keep it safe for her..._

A heartbeat pulses under her fingers, and dimly, as the cold and the darkness and the water cradle her, Tifa thinks,  _Keep **her** safe._ And the Materia flaring green is the last thing she sees, the gentle current pulling them up the last thing she feels, a woman's warm laughter the last thing she hears.


	2. boulder's weight on your chest

It's the whispering that wakes her up.

Not the Planet's, though. Soft, muffled mutterings, grizzled curses. A low bark from Red XIII. Yuffie's hissing orders to keep quiet. The rest of Aerith's senses come to life one by one. She can smell cigarettes and the faded, days old remnants of campfire smoke, burnt meat. Can taste the old copper, from blood or boiled water she can't be sure. Feels the ache in her chest, warm from one of her Restore Materia. Mentally she assesses the healed damage, and thinks,  _I shouldn't be alive._

The wound had been deep. It'd cut something vital, that much she remembers. By all accounts, she should have bleed out in two minutes--five at most. So, Aerith wonders, how is she alive? She flicks her eyes open, squinting. They'd brought her back to Bone Village; she can recognize the look of the inn's roof. Her eyes feel swollen. Her heart beats, proud as you please. The Planet isn't quiet--it never is--but for now it seems content to let her wake up nice and easy. The hum of it is...happy? Maybe. Happy as it can be. Happy she survived? 

_I survived._

The last coherent thought Aerith had before she'd been swallowed whole by her prayers was the Planet's shout of the calamity reborn, coming for her--and then a low breath of relief. 

Memory snaps its fingers in her puddling grey matter. With a wince she props herself on her elbows, sucking back a breath into her lungs. They still sting a little--the Restore spell did the job, but there's still a little aches and pains to be had. Aerith takes it slow, until she's sitting up and breathing in and out, nice and deep. Her heart races, but nothing feels too out of sorts. She shakes her head, and groans, and then gasps. 

Her memory unfogs, and it's like watching someone else's story, really. A body crashing into hers, one arm keeping her skull from cracking. Then Tifa, pulling her up. Sephiroth flying from behind. Blood, pouring; Sephiroth stabbing her takes second place because she already  _knows_ that she's safe. For a horrible, terrible moment Aerith covers her mouth and listens, deep, for the Planet. Tries to pry Tifa's voice out from millions of others, tries to see if Tifa will be able to speak. 

But there's no reply, just a faint rumble, like laughter. Incensed, Aerith opens her eyes, slams both hands into the bedding, and looks around for her staff. She finds it propped by a desk, the top of which is piled high with bandages, ointments, Potions, and her Restore Materia. The trashcan looks innocent enough, but there's the tail end of a bandage soaked in old red. Aerith slowly looks to her right, and the relief that pours into her sends her supine into the bed. 

Because Tifa is there, facedown, her face carefully propped so she can breathe. Her entire torso is covered in bandages and her skin is pale, the skin under her eyes bruised from exhaustion, but her back rises and falls with breath, and she's well enough to drool in her sleep. That, more than anything, makes Aerith cry. Wet, heaving sobs that just burst from her, sobs she's held in since Gongaga, since forever and a day. She cries and coughs and would wail with it if it didn't mean waking Tifa up. 

Only, she manages to do that anyway. Tifa peels her eyes open slowly, like she's fighting her way up to consciousness. Her brows furrow, and she squints, and she slurs, in that thick Nibelheim accent that rolls over Aerith's ears like honey, "Y'alright?" 

And that just makes Aerith cry harder. She knows that they've both been through so much, that even if Aerith's wound wasn't as extensive it was still enough to kill, that they're both so lucky to be alive. But trust Tifa Lockhart to ask her how she's feeling. 

"No," Aerith says at last, a hiccuping word bursting out of her mouth. "I-I'm not."

"Oh." Tifa cracks a weak grin; she's probably drugged out of her head to deal with the wound. She drawls her vowels out like they're soft candy, half from exhaustion and half from habit. "Glad m'not the only one feelin' like a sack of chocobo shit. Sure are a handful, darlin'."

"I'm sorry," Aerith says. 

"Don't be." Tifa's eyes slide shut, and her body slumps. Aerith hadn't noticed the tension in her body until it was all drawn out, until she falls back asleep. "'Cause m'not. Would do it again."

Tifa's last act is to throw her hand out to the side, hanging down to the ground. The space between the beds mean they can't hold hands, not even if Aerith chanced herself to stretch, so she just reaches out on her own as best she can and closes her eyes. She can hear footsteps coming down the hall, no doubt others coming to check on them, and what they'll see is two girls fast asleep with arms outstretched; not quite touching, but still connected, anyway. 

The Planet purrs approval in Aerith's dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its probably corny to give tifa (and by extension cloud) a southern accent but theyre country gits and tifa wore cowboy boots at one point so you know what??? im ENTIRELY justified with my corny cheese, rip this headcanon away from my dead little hands


	3. grit in the scratch

"Ow!"

"Stop whining, you big baby."

"I'm not whining!" Tifa shouts into her pillow. "I'm verbally expressing my pain because you keep  _oh son of a bitch!_ " 

This latest expletive results from Yuffie slathering on a heaping helping of poultice on her palm, winding back, and slapping it right on the tender center of Tifa's back. Tifa doesn't consider herself one to swear; Mama, bless her, had always striven to keep Tifa from picking up her father's bad habit. She's an adult now, been without her mama longer than she had her, and her father wouldn't have passed judgement on her. Still. Old habits are as stubborn to kill as an eco-terrorist. She feels bad for talking so bawdily in front of Yuffie and  _especially_ in front of Aerith. 

Even though she's heard Aerith swear enough to make Cid blush over stubbing her toe, so she knows that Aerith doesn't care--but she can't help it. Nibelheim folk grew up polite and quiet and hospitable and even five years in Sector 7 running a bar can't drive that out of Tifa. Might've made it worse, now that she's thinking about it--

" _Dicks!_ " she shrieks, muffled, as Yuffie starts scrubbing the paste with the heel of her palm. " _Fuck! Stop that or I'll snap your fucking neck!_ "

"Yeah, I dare you," Yuffie taunts, easing up on the pressure as she spreads ointment all along her back. "Maybe this is gonna make you think twice about taking on Sephiroth with a brick!"

"I didn't take him on," Tifa grouses as Yuffie finishes quickly, hopping off of the bed to get the rest of the bandages. "I was running from him. Big difference." 

"I will slap it again," Yuffie warns. 

"And I'll punt you through the wall, just give me an excuse--"

"Yuffie, be nice," Aerith finally says, gingerly stepping out of bed. 

Yuffie audibly huffs and Tifa struggles to look over her shoulder. Feeling a little silly, and still amped up from the pain coursing like lightning through her body, sticks out her tongue. She sputters when Aerith flicks her wrist, catching the tip of it between a thumb and forefinger and  _pinching_ just slightly, enough to make Tifa choke on air and spit and Yuffie to snort with startled giggles. 

"And you," Aerith chides, "stop squirming and let us finish up in peace." 

She lets go so Tifa can bury her face in her arms, grumbling but otherwise quiet. Yuffie lays out pads of gauze, then quietly instructs Tifa to lift herself up a little. Just to be difficult, Tifa does a single push up to show that she can, even on the lumpy and unstable mattress of the inn's bed. Yuffie audibly rolls her eyes, mutters something in Wutai, and Tifa can feel Aerith's disapproving glare boring holes into the back of her head but so what? She's not invalid and it's not like she hasn't been cut by Sephiroth before. When the bandages are done Tifa lets herself back down slow and steady, frowning because her arms are sore from the effort, and then Aerith pours a Restore spell into her with an easy grace that Tifa envies. 

She sighs at the cooling relief in her arms, her shoulders, and the tingling spark of healing magic along the line of torn tissue and muscle that makes up her back. It'll still be a day or two until it's fully healed, and a little longer still until she can get back on her feet for real. It sucks. The longer they drag their feet over her, the longer Sephiroth has to call about Meteor. Any kind of arguing that she'd be fine on her own, and that they needed to get back on the search for Sephiroth was met with...heartfelt protests. Not all of them gentle.

(Tifa's ears still rang from Barret's blustering scolding, which was expected, although Vincent had cut her to the core with a quiet,  _I'm not mad, just disappointed_.)

Cloud had the final say, and that was that she was going to stay in bed, and heal, and they'd get back to it when she could stand for longer than fifteen minutes. 

It was embarrassing. And it makes her a little happy, too. She has plenty of guilt waiting to eat at her tonight, of course, that never changes, but she really has no choice but to let them fuss. It's definitely new for her. 

Yuffie huffs. "Alright, I'm gonna go wash my hands and toss these bandages. Should probably let the boys know I'm not killing Tifa either." 

"That's probably a good idea," Aerith agrees with a laugh. "I'll keep an eye on her." 

"You'd better! Cloud'll--how'd he phrase it?  _Tan yer hide_ or something." 

Tifa winces at the gaudy butchering of Cloud's accent. It makes her self conscious of her own, and she's known she's been doped up or relaxed enough to let it slip around the others a time or two. Hopefully she doesn't really sound like that, but she has no idea. Aerith seems to notice her discomfort, and ushers Yuffie out quickly enough that Tifa can relax at the sound of the door closing. She settles in for another round of pain medication and napping, but blinks when Aerith sits beside her on the bed and gently trails her fingertips down the length of the wound, mapping it out. 

"You." Aerith swallows audibly. "You didn't have to do that. Any of that."

"Are you stupid?" It slips from her lips before Tifa can stop herself. "Of  _course_ I had to. He was going to kill you, Aerith." 

"Maybe..." she trails off, and Tifa feels the hair on the back of her neck rise. "Maybe, maybe that's what should have happened." 

Tifa grinds her teeth and plants her fists in the mattress, hauling herself up without care. Her wound gives a sharp, spine melting twinge of protest but Tifa ignores it to sit on her knees, to look Aerith in the eyes. Her hands catch her shoulders, grips them hard enough to turn the skin of her knuckles white. 

"And that's a bunch of  _bull_ ," Tifa says firmly. "You listen up, because I'm not going to say this again; you were  _worth it_. You  _are_ worth it. What would we--I--do without you, huh? Sure, we'd live. We'd find a way. But I--" She clears her throat as tears spring up, not just because of the blister hot ache in her back but because of the startled, wide eyed look Aerith gives her, "--I don't  _want that._ I don't want to find out what kind of Planet we'd get without you in it. So--no more--dilly dallying with  _that_ what if, you hear me?" 

"I...Tifa." Her name is just a whisper, and Aerith lets their foreheads bump together. "I'm sorry..."

"And what did I say about apologizing! We've got nothing to be sorry about. We're alive. We're okay. We're gonna pull through. You got that?"

Aerith laughs, softly, and reaches up with a hand to cover one on her shoulder. Her smile is beautiful. "I got it. But it's a hard habit to break." 

Tifa feels Aerith's other hand touch her back, carefully, like Tifa is made of glass. Tifa watches Aerith's eyes flare and tries not to fall down when she rips away, fury written on that pretty face with enough heat to make Tifa start praying. 

"You  _idiot!_ Your wound--!" Aerith holds up one of her hands, and sure enough, it has a smear of red on the palm. "Lay your ass back down on that bed this instant! Ohh, I should tan  _your_ hide--!" 

"S-sorry?" Tifa tries to shrug, and the minute she does the world goes fuzzy soft white at the edges and she faceplants into the bed with a woozy grunt. "Oh, now I'm  _really_ sorry."


	4. mica glittered along your skin

A horrified gasp has Aerith shooting up from her seat on the bed, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor as she grabs her staff and her Restore Materia in a single smooth motion. That single inhale has her heart racing, her sweat cold, and she's a split second from screaming for someone to come help her save Tifa before she hears, "My  _hair...!_ "

She freezes in place, heat blooming up into her cheeks. She moves for the bathroom and looks through the open door, finding Tifa mostly dressed and staring at the mirror in horror, towel clutched to her chest. Aerith breathes in deep and lets it out in a low, controlled sigh, setting her staff to lean against the wall. She feels a little shaky, which is just the new norm for a week after a near death experience, but she could do without the surprises. Tifa hasn't been touch and go, but there have been more bad days than good, even if now she's clear enough to at least get back to traveling. 

"You almost gave me a heart attack," Aerith scolds, but keeps her voice and her tone light. Tifa looks over to her and flushes. "Also--aren't you supposed to be clutching pearls?" 

Tifa brings the towel down with a surprised little laugh. The cropped shirt is almost identical to the white tank top she had on before her injury, but it has laces and clasps in the back of it, just incase Aerith has to get at her wound fast. It's raised and pink, the color of fresh scar tissue, but still tender enough that it looks ready to split open with any quick movement. At least Tifa had managed to shower on her own. As tender and intimate a wipedown with a warm, wet cloth is, nothing beats the first _real_ bath. Unfortunately, that also means she has to see what a combination of Sephiroth and panicked teammates have done to her hair. 

Aerith feels a little bit of that horror. Tifa's hair had been a long cascade of beautiful, naturally straight hair. Not as thick as Aerith's, but it looked silky to the touch, like it begged for someone's fingers to rake through. 

Sephiroth's strike cut more than just Tifa's back, though; it had severed Tifa's hair in that same diagonal path. Then Yuffie had apparently taken one of her hidden knives and hacked away whatever dragged to close to the tear. It's...a mess, Aerith thinks delicately. 

"Midgar women clutch pearls," Tifa's voice finally says. "Nibelheim women make do." Then, she sighs and pulls at a mangled hank of hair, her expression pained. "My hair, though..." 

Aerith squirms a bit. She's never said it outright, but Aerith believes that Tifa's kept her hair so long out of respect for her mother. A connection to a dead parent; Aerith can relate. Even though she can feel the success of Holy, and she doesn't need it anymore, she misses her mother's Materia so dearly. But there's no Restore spell for hair; this is something Aerith cannot bring back. So, she decides; she'll just make it better. 

"I could give you a trim," Aerith offers softly. "Even it out." 

Tifa looks at her like she's hung the moon. "You'd do that...?" 

"Well, of course." She shakes her head. "You want it to grow back out evenly, right? Grab your towel and take a seat; I'll go find some scissors." 

Aerith manages to borrow a pair from the innkeeper's wife, promising to give them back of course, and returns shortly. She finds that Tifa's laid out a towel on the bed, and one tucked around her shoulders. Aerith silently takes a seat behind her, accepts the brush Tifa offers, and starts to cut. She tries to layer out what she can. She knows that pruning wayward buds or weeds doesn't exactly translate into hair care, but Aerith likes to think that she does pretty well all things considered. Tifa stays as silent as Aerith does, but it's a comfortable, companionable breed of silence. The amount of trust Tifa's putting in her hands is a little staggering, when Aerith looks at the deeper meaning, but this is the least she can do. 

Tifa saved her life. Aerith can salvage her hair. 

"It's going to be pretty short," she finally manages after a length silence. "I'm sorry. There's not much I can do for that..."

"It's...it's okay." Tifa is quiet, but her tone is gentle. "...You know how I'm going to look at it?"

"How?"

"I got it that short because you were still around to cut it." Tifa sounds quite proud of herself. "So I think it's worth it." 

Aerith swallows the lump in her throat, still touched, still moved, still grateful. "Don't make me cry while I've got scissors," she warns playfully, unable to help the watery quiver in her voice. 

"You could have that stupid Buster Sword in your hands and I'd trust you," Tifa shoots back with a laugh. "C'mon, hurry up! I wanna see."

She evens it out as best as she's able and then pats Tifa's shoulder. "Okay, go look." 

Tifa bounds up off the bed and walks to the bathroom with a noticable quickness. Aerith sweeps up the hair and holds it bundled in the towels, a little nervous. When Tifa is silent, Aerith bites her lip and gingerly follows after her, peeking in again. What she sees makes her stomach flip; Tifa stares at herself in the mirror with wide, stunned eyes, an awed little smile curling at the corners of her mouth. She slowly rakes one hand through her short hair, flaring the layers into wild life. It gives her a windswept appearance, a rough and tumble charm. Or maybe it's the other way around; at this point, Aerith considers that Tifa could stick herself in a burlap sack and make it look good. 

"I...I love it," Tifa finally whispers, her smile becoming a beaming grin. She gives Aerith the full force of that heartmelting grin. "Aerith, I  _love_ it! If selling flowers gets out of style, you should consider a career out of this!" 

Aerith laughs, but there's still a curious tension in her stomach; wonderful and warm, not a bad thing, but still a knot that she wonders how to unravel. "Well, since we are going to be saving the Planet, and there'll be a lot more free flowers around...I just might have to think about different career options." 

"C'mon, let's go show the others." Tifa takes her hand. "Maybe you can cut Cloud's hair next." 

"Ha! There aren't scissors strong enough--"

"What about Vincent?" 

"He'll  _murder_ me if I try!"

"I'll avenge you," Tifa says with false gravity. But she squeezes Aerith's hand, and Aerith can almost hear the silent promise behind that;  _I'll protect you._ So she gives a return squeeze of her own, and thinks,  _We'll protect each other._  

 


	5. pebble in a shoe

Tifa tosses the Turbo Ether back and forth in her hands, sat on the bed as Aerith, Cloud, and a few others remain upstairs. The chill cuts down the back of her parka, her breath fogging in front of her; it's her racing heart that keeps her warm more than the second hand winter clothes they'd scrambled together before heading for the Snow Fields, following week old clues of Sephiroth. She feels bad for lying about how well she feels, knowing that a wrong move could set them back even further, but she's content to sit on the metaphorical bench as they travel. The truth of the matter is that Tifa still feels like absolute garbage, but she only got a little cut; Aerith was  _stabbed_ and she's perfectly fine to keep going. Tifa doesn't know what her problem is. Her wound's closed but it hurts and she's tired, even though she feels like she has to keep moving, to get to where Sephiroth is and end it.

So Tifa's learned how to suck it up. Helps that she's got a flask full of Hi-Potion that she takes sips from when she notices her body flagging, or her back howling in agony. Whether or not it's actually healing or Tifa's just dulling back the pain, she can't tell; once they've got the Black Materia back, then she'll fess up and face Aerith's wrath. For now Tifa will swallow her protests, put on her game face, and suck back her own stock of Potions like they're whiskey. 

She's pretty sure Red XIII's sussed her out, which is why Tifa doesn't protest when he hovers by her side all the time, ready to catch her should she keel over. Tifa hasn't figured out why he hasn't told anyone else yet, and can only rack it up to some kind of code of honor; he's always been a warrior, and really, he's still a kid. He probably gets why Tifa would rather keep moving forward than holding them back. 

Up above, the dull voices come to a halt. It's quiet, aside from footsteps. Tifa wonders what's been hidden here, in this lab, and she takes quick pull from her flask before tucking it away as Vincent comes down the stairs first, peeking down.

"We're moving out," he murmurs. His eyes are stark as he adds, "I think she needs to talk to you."

Tifa stands up at that, already rushing ahead. Red XIII silently pads after her, rumbling, and Vincent dances out of the way with way more grace than any man who slept in a coffin for forever should. She finds Aerith stands a little ways away from the main group, who stand by Cloud and nod as he murmurs instructions, plans...orders... _whatever_. She'll hear the rest from Yuffie later, no doubt. She goes to Aerith because Aerith looks like the world's been pulled out from under her feet. She looks a little bit like she did on that altar, and Tifa strides a little faster to get to where she needs to be sooner. 

She reaches out, touches Aerith's elbow. Aerith looks up to her slowly. Theres some pink at the corners of her too-shiny eyes, and she sucks in a sharp little breath. 

"I saw," Aerith rasps, "I saw my parents. My birth parents. My father is..." 

Tifa drifts down to clasp Aerith's palm in her own, squeezes her hand, tight. Aerith steps close and drops her head on Tifa's shoulder. Like magic, she straightens up under that barely-there weight. She'd always been so self conscious about her shoulders with how broad they were, how hard it was to find dresses that fit right on her, even as a child. But maybe this is why the gods made so much space there. Maybe they made sure that Tifa had the strength and the room to share the load, no matter how heavy it gets. 

(No matter how much it hurts to heft it, either. Cloud isn't Cloud, and every lie between them sits like poison in her blood; but the truth would shatter him, Tifa knows. He's already struggling to deal with Sephiroth. Once the crisis has passed, maybe--maybe. Maybe she can tell him the truth. Maybe.)

"They were in love," Aerith whispers. "Oh, they loved each other. And they loved...me..." 

Tifa doesn't speak. It's not her place to. 

"We have to put an end to this. For my mother. For my father." Aerith sniffles, and Tifa feels all kinds of warm, all kinds of hurt, and her guts twist into knots. She doesn't like it when people cry--she's an empathy crier herself and if someone starts to shed tears her own inevitably follow--so she pulls Aerith into a hug, and just holds her. She holds her and keeps her body like a shield, cursing Shinra, cursing Sephiroth, cursing Hojo in particular. 

"That...sucks," is what Tifa says. She sighs as Aerith snorts and wraps her arms around her shoulders, muffling giggles into Tifa's parka. "Sorry. Words aren't my thing right now. We'll save the Planet. I promise." 

She's aware of at least three other people in the room--Red XIII, Vincent, and Cid--and the cold, brisk snap of air from the open door just above. Once Aerith pulls away, Tifa turns around when she hears shouting, indistinct voices, before Yuffie runs back in with a snowboard tucked under her arm. 

"Turks!" she shouts. "We gotta go, we gotta go  _right now!"_

"Uh," Tifa yelps. Cid snaps a curse and bolts out the door, Red XIII leaping up over the stairs in a bound, snarling for him to  _Wait, dammit!_

"Here!" Yuffie slings the snowboard her way and she barely catches it. "You know how to surf, right?!"

"Uh," Tifa says again, louder. "I _guess_? How's this going to help!?" 

"Cloud stole a bunch of sleds and junk from some sick kids." Yuffie jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "We're gonna shred down the mountain from the Turks." 

" _We're gonna what!?_ " Tifa snaps as Aerith shouts, " _Cloud did what?!_ " 

"Yeah, yeah, come  _on_! You've gotta carry Aerith cause Barret, Cid, an' Red XIII hogged the sled and Cloud stole the other snowboard." 

"So what are we going to do," Vincent says dryly. "Swim?" 

"You've got like fifty monsters in that bony ass and not one of them can slide down a snowy mountain?" Yuffie scowls at him. Vincent stares back before he just sighs, rolls his shoulders, mumbles something about shooting, and then he's gone and dragging Yuffie by the scruff of her sweater. Tifa and Aerith look at each other for five seconds, can hear the far off shouting of an angry Turk--the blonde one, Elena, Tifa thinks--and then the roar of Vincent's Galian Beast. The last thing they hear from their friends is Yuffie hollering,  _It's the fluffy boy!_  

"Fuck," Tifa says simply. She pulls out her flask and drains the rest of her Hi-Potion in one go. 

"Tifa, you shouldn't drink--" 

"Liquid courage!" She takes Aerith's hand, feeling vitality roar in her muscles, and drags her along. They just manage to duck around the incoming Shinra rabble and sprint their way across frozen earth and tightly packed snow, vanishing into the forest. Tifa can see deep gouges in the snow from the others, slaps down the board, and steps on it with one heavy boot. "C'mere!" 

Aerith obeys, apprehensively. "Tifa, I don't know, there's not enough room on the--"

Tifa picks her up. 

"--And this is happening," Aerith titters, snapping her arms around Tifa's neck. Her bronze cheeks flare red. She weighs a little more than she should, in Tifa's opinion--not as a detriment to Aerith, more as a detriment to herself. She can bench  _way_ more than this with ease; she's been slacking too much. 

"If we die, I am going to be so peeved," Tifa grits, staring down the snowy hill. 

"I will go out with no regrets," Aerith says with a breathy little giggle that Tifa tries to ignore with a roll of her arms. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Not a chance." 

"Oh, good. Guess I'm popping your cherry, huh. For snowboarding while carrying a gorgeous Cetra, I mean." 

Tifa stares at her, feeling the heat rolling into her own face. Aerith looks completely unashamed. This kind of bold flirting is completely inappropriate, considering the time, the place, the situation, the Planet's impending doom and  _that is a gun_ , Tifa notes out of the corner of her eye as an infantryman comes into view. She clasps Aerith to her chest and pushes off with her other foot, praying that Cloud wiped out on the way down for thinking that  _this_ was a good escape plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that it is probably completely impossible to pull of bridal carrying someone and snowboarding. im counting on your suspension of belief here.


	6. crumbling foundation made of slate

"You'd better let me take a look at your back," Aerith says, already dragging Tifa into the cramped spare bedroom while the others try and spread out where they can in Holzoff's cabin. "You took a pretty bad fall."

"It's Clouds fault," Tifa says with a ragged sigh. "I can't surf. Why would I be able to snowboard? Why did he think that was a  _good idea?_ I hate him so much..."

"Well, at least we all got here in one piece." 

And that's a big relief if there ever was one. Though she really doesn't know why Tifa says she can't snowboard; aside from a couple of bumps and bad turns, Aerith thinks they did fairly well for a beginner holding someone else up. Tifa's sense of balance is impeccable. Sure it might have ended badly--the board skipping on a buried rock and launching them into the air, rolling down the rest of the way to land in a tangle of sore limbs and cussing, but nothing was broken. 

And Aerith can't forget the sight of the Galian Beast shaking its pelt furiously, trying to dislodge the front of its body of the thick snow while Yuffie informed them all that, when suffering from a lack of a sled, an enormous "fluffy" monster would do. Vincent still isn't on speaking terms with her at the moment, though Aerith thinks that's more from Yuffie's nicknames for Vincent's burdens than anything else.

She makes Tifa sit on the tiny little bed and together they manage to shrug off her parka. Tifa's body sags in relief as Aerith undoes the laces and clasps of Tifa's top, giving that pesky scratch a thorough checkout. It hasn't reopened yet, but the skin is red and irritated and when she probes Tifa's back with the tips of her fingers she finds the skin uncannily hot from a fever. Aerith frowns as she feels the muscles under her fingertips squirm, and recognizes the feeling under her hand, the temperature of Tifa's skin. It's not all just from a fever, Aerith realizes with a drop of anger. 

It's from a fever and it's the early signs of Potion overdose. 

She snatches up Tifa's flask from the inside pocket and shakes it viciously; there's still a little bit of liquid left in it. She twists off the cap, noting Tifa's guilty flinch, and sniffs. Then she pours the last bit of liquid into her palm and sees the bright gold color of a Hi-Potion. The silence of the room sits heavy on her shoulders and Aerith finds her hands shaking with fear, with fury, eyes burning from it. She wipes her palm off on the fabric of her winter pants and caps the flask again, practically throwing it against the bed. 

"You want to tell me what that's about?" Aerith's nerves feel raw. 

"I'm fine," Tifa says quietly, guiltily, like a child caught in a lie. And she is, Aerith realizes. Caught in a lie, that is. Not a child. Even though Aerith  _wishes_ she could be mad enough to think that. "That's just--it just helps sometimes. Cold's bothering my back a little."

Aerith circles the bed and grabs Tifa's chin, yanks her up. She's got her jaw set in that stubborn little jut, and Aerith knows that if she'd had the energy her shoulders would be set back, spine straight, every inch the determined idiot. Aerith smooths her hand up to feel Tifa's forehead, then her own, and then kisses her head to double check.  _Definitely a fever_ , she thinks, frowning against Tifa's skin so she can feel it. Tifa flinches again.  _Good. Idiot._

"You're not meant to just slam them back like that, you know," Aerith says, her voice cracking. "You're pushing your body too far and relying on Potions to overcompensate's going to leave you worse off. Sleep this off. I'll use Restore in a minute."

"W...wha?" 

"I've seen it a lot. In the slums." Aerith fights to clear her throat as the anger bleeds away. She's forgotten that Tifa's not the sort to wear her burdens on her sleeve; she keeps them tucked away so no one can see her buckling under the strain. It's selfless. And stupid. "People working two, three jobs...using Potions to get through the day. Like energy drinks, or pills, but worse. The body isn't meant to heal that much, that fast, not all the time. And you, you just--you  _idiot_ ," Aerith finishes on a choked breath, dropping her knees on either side of Tifa's hips, planting herself on her lap and throwing her arms around her neck.

"I'm--" Tifa doesn't move, remains completely still even as the muscles in her arms flex. "I didn't--know. I'm sorry. I just...this is bigger than me," she whispers. "We have to stop Sephiroth. We have to stop Shinra. I didn't want to hold anyone back anymore. I'm not _that_ important in the long run--" 

"You are to  _me_." Aerith breathes in, breathes out. "There's no chance for me to convince you to take it easy, is there?"

"...There isn't," Tifa says quietly. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not." 

"I'm sorry for lying." One of Tifa's arms finally moves, curling around her back. Aerith's eyes close. "I'm sorry for worrying you. That's the...opposite of what I wanted." 

"Will you let me heal you from now on?" Aerith asks. "No more Potions unless it's an emergency." 

"Y-yeah." 

"And you'll let me look at your back every night--"

"Got it." 

"And you won't be reckless anymore," Aerith commands, "or I'm going to make you regret it!" 

A weak laugh, and Tifa nods against her. "I'll be more careful. And I'll tell you if it's too much and I need to rest." 

"Okay." Aerith breathes. "I wasn't lying about you sleeping this fever off." She weaves the Restore through Tifa's weary sinew as she climbs out of Tifa's lap, coaxing her drowsy friend beneath the blankets and tucking her in. She pulls up a chair, holds Tifa's hand, and keeps watch. 


	7. dams made of pumice

The fire roars around them. Nibelheim, set ablaze. Nibelheim, dead and dying. Nibelheim, in ruins all over again. 

It always comes back to Nibelheim. 

Tifa tries not to surrender to the mindless panic that threatens her. It's just an illusion, Cloud says. And she knows herself that it's half truth, and half lie. They certainly haven't been transported back in time; for all intents and purposes, they're still at the Northern Crater, in the middle of the 'reunion', whatever that means. Sephiroth is dredging up the awful, nightmarish memories of what he did to Nibelheim. 

But Tifa watches Zack Fair running around the town, doing the things Cloud said he did, acting the ways Cloud does now. Cloud keeps brushing off Sephiroth's claims of being a puppet, of being something just stitched together with Jenova cells, and Mako energy, and Tifa's memories. 

"After all," Sephiroth says, looking at her and something small inside of her squirms; she's repulsed by Sephiroth and yet, a tiny,  _miniscule_ part of her wants to be drawn closer, "You were close to Jenova too, weren't you, Tifa? You're even closer now. You can feel it, can't you? It's small, but it's there. It's how you've been able to craft this 'Cloud'. It's all your memories. It's all your fault."

"Don't listen to him," Cloud says, his voice raw and desperate. Cid watches it all in muted horror, jaw open and cigarette dangling just off the corner of his chapped lips. "We have  _our_ memories. You're my best friend. You'll always be my best friend!" 

"Is she? Will you? How interesting..." 

The world flashes with bright light. Her wound sears like a fire brand. Sephiroth, she knows, is standing  _right behind her_ but Tifa can't move, can't breathe. She's frozen. Her body won't respond. 

"It's so small. It can't grow. Most of it was flushed out." Sephiroth's voice is a low whisper just behind her, making her skin crawl. "But there's a small,  _small_ piece of Her in you too, you know. When you stepped in--you and that Ancient both..." 

Tifa spins on her foot, one leg arching up. Had Sephiroth been real, her heel would have smashed into his cheek and cracked his skull open like a rotten egg. But her foot cuts through him and his image fades away like smoke, leaving behind his mocking laughter and the phantom echo of Nibelheim. She pants harshly, her head ringing; it feels like her ears need to pop or her head will burst from the pressure.

She can see Zack, running into the shadows. Hears Cloud muttering under his breath, desperately. It's too much; she's not ready, Tifa realizes. She needs more time. More time, more time,  _any_ time...

She doesn't get it. 

A thunderous crack splits the air, and in a flash of white light Nibelheim fades away. They're in some sort of...chamber, surrounded by monstrous creatures frozen in mako, an enormous source of tumultuous energy pulsing just above them, held back by roots. Now more than ever does her back ache, but Tifa sees Hojo, and Rufus Shinra--even that devil woman in the red dress is there. But something in Tifa knows that Sephiroth--the real one--is here. So it's almost done. Maybe they can beat Shinra and Sephiroth both. 

And then Aerith runs into the chamber. Aerith, who Cloud had ordered to stay behind with the rest of the party to keep watch. Aerith, who carries the Black Materia in her hand. 

"No," Tifa rasps. Cloud jerks towards her, stumbling over his feet. She doesn't need to see his eyes to know that he's being manipulated again. "Cloud, no! No!  _Stay away from her!_ " 

She can feel Hojo watching her as she takes three strides, halfway into a sprint. 

"Cloud, can't you hear me?!" 

Cloud holds out his hand. Aerith clasps the Black Materia to her chest, and shakes her head,  _no_. She moves her eyes to meet Tifa's, and Tifa feels her heart skip a beat. 

"Cloud!" Tifa takes another step, furious. Cloud isn't himself; he wants the Materia; the last time this happened, he'd beaten Aerith black and blue and she loves him, she does, he's her friend and how can she not, but Tifa is furious as she roars, " _I said stay away from-_ " 

Something in her skin  _squirms_ and the wound on her back bursts open as if Sephiroth himself tore her apart all over again. She trips; stumbles; falls flat on her face with a choked gasp. Faintly, she can hear Hojo cackling and the disgusting feeling of him drawing close to her, looking at the peeled open tear of her skin. 

"I see you got swept up in the Reunion too," Hojo hums. "You must have brushed with a little bitty _piece_ of Jenova, then. Not enough to control you, but enough to bring you to heel. My, my...how  _fascinating_." 

" _Tifa!_ " Aerith's scream rips through the air and Hojo stumbles back, the butt of Aerith's staff just missing him as she falls to her knees beside Tifa, gathering her up, trembling hands pressing Restore over a wound that won't stop  _bleeding_. "I've got you, I've got you, I'm so _sorry_ , it was all a trick...!"

Tifa clings back, but she can't find the energy to speak. Her head spins as she tries to piece it all together--that the piece of Jenova that attacked her, that tried to kill Aerith, that clone, that  _whatever it was_ has snuck something inside of her all this time, Jenova or not--and she settles for closing her eyes against the wave of pain in her chest, her heart breaking, as she hears Cloud start to apologize. There's nothing left of her friend in that voice. Nothing left of the boy she thought she knew. Nothing.

"Sorry," Cloud says above the racket. "Sorry I couldn't be the real 'Cloud' for you, Tifa." 

Tifa fists her hands into Aerith's dress as she watches Cloud ascend, as the Reunion begins, and the world ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before anyone asks or complains to me, the basic thought process behind the reveals here, since its au, is this;
> 
> -during chapter one, as "sephiroth" (aka that piece of gross jenova goop) attacks tifa and aerith, there is a transfer of jenova cells  
> -magic bullshit occurs, purging aerith of all of them (as either a callback/forward to geostigmas cure) but tifa still has a little bit in there  
> -its not enough to put her on either cloud or sephiroth or any SOLDIER's level in terms of strength, and theres so little that it cant be controlled, but the malevolent will caused the wound to reopen again; its also why its been such a drag on tifa over the chapters  
> -final fantasy 7's plot is fucking confusing and writing it vaugely like this is doing it no goddamn favors and im sorry


	8. dams made of pumice [side b]

The trek up was stomach churning. 

Aerith considers herself to have a fairly firm constitution. She has no trouble facing down monsters, ghosts, Shinra infantry. Death is a necessity of life; the Planet welcomes all into the Lifestream in the end. She's seen enough sorrow and bloodshed and misery in the slums to have developed--not necessarily a desensitivity to it-a stomach for it. She's seen enough wounds on the party in their travels to know her own limits. 

But as she watches the black robed figures falling to the ground, writhing in pointless agony until they expire, or fling themselves over the edge into oblivion--Aerith can't help being more than a little nauseated. It persists as they head further and further into the great crater, as the Mako energy pulses around them, as the Planet constantly hums a warning song. It's so loud that she has to force herself to tune it out so she can hear the others whenever a fight springs up. 

"Sephiroth is just up ahead," Cloud finally says, holding the reclaimed Black Materia in his palm. He stares down at it, lips twisted in a frown, then moves forward. Aerith jumps as he sets it in her hands. "Here," he says, gruffly. "Take this. I don't know...what would happen to me, if I saw him and I was holding that. Don't let anyone else take it." 

"I-I...alright," Aerith says quietly. 

"Cid, c'mon. You're with us." Cloud climbs up and makes to continue further in, Tifa right by his side. 

"Wait--what?" Aerith speaks up. "You can't mean you three are going alone--?!" 

"Only going in first," Cloud says firmly. "You're all gonna stay here and keep watch." 

Aerith gapes as Tifa nods silently, and finds her voice as her stomach curdles. "You're not serious!" she half shouts at Cloud, half at Tifa. "At least let me go with you!" 

"He made a target out of you first and foremost," Cloud argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you're holding the Black Materia."

"Someone else can do it!" Aerith snaps. "Tifa," she says, ignoring Cloud's shocked blink, "you  _promised_ me you weren't going to be reckless anymore!"

"And I'm not," Tifa says confidently. "I'll be on my best behavior. But Cloud and I...this is something we  _both_ have to do. Aerith, please try to understand. We'll be careful, I  _promise_ , and if anything goes wrong I'll be the first to come running out and back to you." 

Tifa grins, and Aerith thinks that she has no right making that cocky bullshit look so attractive. 

"Cid," Aerith says, "trade places with me. Come on.  _Please_. Talk some sense into them!" 

"No can do," Cid sighs, slinging his spear over his shoulders. "You should know somethin' about Nibelheim folk. They're stubborn like bulls. Ain't no talkin' sense into these crazy motherfuckers, for damn sure. I'll keep an eye on them for you though."

Aerith marches right on up, grabs one of Tifa's stupid suspenders, and yanks her down. Their foreheads nearly smash into each other but Tifa manages to catch herself, and the contact that follows is brief, and much less--well--bloody. Also, shockingly intimate; not that Aerith really cares. She goes a little cross eyed to look Tifa Lockhart in the eyes. 

"You come back," she says, her voice quiet. "Either because you won, or because you need help. Are we clear?"

Tifa meets her eyes head on. "Crystal clear." 

"Okay." Aerith breathes out, and forces her fingers to pry open. "...Okay." 

She pats Tifa's bicep, and then Tifa turns, and--and her hand drags down when Tifa leaves after Cloud and Cid, gently tugging out of Aerith's grip, and leaving her feeling oddly bereft. Lonely. Aching. Especially as they wander out of sight, and into the metaphorical fire. Aerith drops her arm soon after, sighing deeply. Then she hears Yuffie clear her throat as delicately as she can--which is not at all--and feels herself flush. 

"Was about to ask if you two wanted a minute or two alone," Yuffie teases as Aerith turns to face them, grinning impishly. "I mean, I assume that's why you didn't give her a," she smooshes her cheeks together, saying in a sugary sweet voice that edges on mocking, " _kish fow good wuck?_ " 

Aerith chokes on air. Barret and Red XIII burst into laughter and Cait Sith pipes up, "I can read you two a fortune, if you'd like!" 

"Do you want me to shoot her," Vincent asks dully, his head inclining toward Yuffie. 

"No--no! No to either! No to everything!" Aerith huffs, covering one fire hot cheek with a hand. "Goodness. Wh--if I kiss Tifa it's not going to be out some weird, end of the world desperation! That's just  _tacky_."

"A _ha!_ So you  _do_ wanna kiss her!"

"I'm bisexual, not blind," Aerith says flatly. 

"I mean, I feel you. I've seen what Tifa can suplex." Yuffie makes a show of fanning herself. "Gat- _damn_." 

"I think you two'd be cute as all hell," Barret says after he recovers from his mirth, patting a hand on his stomach. "And you could both use a little bit of happiness, y'feel me? I'm thinkin' of makin' Tifa retire from AVALANCHE after all this ends. So you an' her can go retire. Don't want her giving you anymore grey hairs." 

That makes her sober up a little. Aerith feels the dread coming back as she half faces the direction Cid, Cloud, and Tifa ran off in. The Black Materia weighs her down like a cinderblock in her hand. She doesn't say it out loud, but she knows her expression screams,  _if she comes back_. 

"Hey, hey. They're gonna be okay," Yuffie soothes. "And if they're not back in thirty then I say we get Vincent to sick Rowdy Boy on them." 

Vincent is silent, before he finally manages, " 'Rowdy boy'?" 

"Yeah, you know! That dude. He's got a chainsaw for a hand or something. Mask?" Yuffie waves her right hand for emphasis. "Rowdy Boy." 

"Hellmask."

"That guy, yeah." 

"Do you--" Vincent squints. "Do you have inane nicknames for my  _inner demons?_ "

"Way to be melodramatic but yeah." Yuffie starts to list them off. "There's Fluffy Boy, Rowdy Boy, Nasty Boy, and Flappy Boy." 

"....Galian Beast, Hellmask, Death Gigas, and Chaos."

"Oh got'em in one, that's impressive!" 

Vincent drops his face in his hands. Aerith can't help herself from bursting into giggles that only intensify as Yuffie proceeds to look so intensely proud of herself. This time Cait Sith joins in along with Barret, while Red XIII lays on the ground, resting his head on his paws with an amused snort. They pass the time with clearly purposeful small talk, and jokes, trying to keep the atmosphere light. It doesn't work. Aerith can feel the tension ramping up by the second. Thirty minutes, that's what they've all agreed on; thirty minutes and then they'll storm in after their friends no matter what. Aerith blinks and the world is dark, swirling around her. Everyone has vanished and her heart nearly stops; she tucks the Black Materia into her jacket and holds onto her staff with both hands, her body coiled for an attack. 

She hears footsteps crunching against stone, and turns to face them as the darkness lifts. Tifa, scuffed and breathless, is running to her, short hair wild from the fight. 

"Wh--Tifa?!" 

"Aerith, thank the Planet!" Tifa slows to a halt, panting. "Hurry! Cloud's in danger!" 

"What--I--" Aerith looks around. "What's  _happening?_ Everything went dark--and everyone vanished--"

"They're back at the fight. We need you. Aerith," Tifa says, stepping forward, reaching out to cup her cheek, " _I_ need you." 

Aerith sucks in a breath. Tifa seems...different. She can't put her finger on it. Maybe it's because she's close...maybe it's because she's getting closer. Aerith ducks out of the way before they kiss, startled as the information catches up to her.  _A fight--Cloud's--everyone is--_

"There's no time," Aerith says apologetically. "Tifa--thank you," she stammers, "--for keeping your promise. Now let me keep mine!" 

Too flustered to look back, Aerith sets off at a run, staff tucked under her arm. She's never run so fast before, so hard. She doesn't look back to see how close Tifa's following her; the blood pounding in her ears and the eerie rush of wind all around her swallows the sound of her footsteps anyway. Maybe it's swallowing the noise of battle, too. Surely, if  _everyone's_ there already...

Aerith runs in, ducking into a tunnel, and coming into a great and massive chamber. Weapons remain sealed within their Materia tombs all around the walls; above is an overflowing wealth of Mako energy. She stares for a moment, mouth open, before she realizes that something is deeply, deeply wrong. There is no battle; there is no danger. There's Hojo and Rufus, of course, but no Sephiroth. Cloud lifts his head as she stumbles to a stop, his movements...alien. Unnatural. 

He advances on her slow and steady, limbs jerking like a puppet on tangled strings. She can see Tifa's mouth moving from over his shoulder, sees Tifa moving, but she can't hear her.

"Give me the Black Materia," Cloud says, his voice soft. 

"...No," Aerith whispers hoarsely, reaching into her jacket and palming the Materia in her hand, tight. She takes a single step back, looking over to catch Tifa's eyes, instinctively searching for support. Tifa catches on, and she takes a step. 

But her back bursts open in a shower of blood. Aerith screams and the Black Materia falls out of her hand, out of her jacket, as Tifa falls to the ground. As Hojo slinks closer, his oily smile promising nothing but horror. She takes a swing at him with a shriek, nearly hitting the slimeball as she keeps him away from Tifa. She gathers her up, one trembling palm against Tifa's bloodsoaked back as she pours healing magic into her body. It's like all that healing was for nothing; Tifa's wound looks fresh, like Sephiroth cut her open all over again. 

She only realizes her mistake as Cloud apologizes, and rises up. Aerith watches, stunned, as the cocooned Sephiroth is given the Black Materia. 

The Planet howls. 

By the time the tremors begin, Rufus Shinra is kneeling by her side, his eyes stark and grave. She's about to punch his fucking face in before he slings Tifa's arm over his shoulder, crimson staining his ivory white suit. 

"Help me," he demands. "There's no time to squabble; we have to get out of here." 

"I hate you," Aerith hisses, putting Tifa's other arm around her neck as together they haul her limp body up, hurrying out as the cavern begins to shake, rubble falling from above. "This is  _all your fault_. Was your fucking Promised Land worth all of this?!  _Is your greed satisfied?!_ " 

"Wax your philosophy later. I have no qualms letting the terrorist die here." 

She could spit in his face. She wants to. But Aerith only shoots him a damning glare, tries not to think about how much blood Tifa is losing, and she runs with the president of Shinra, onto the Highwind, and into the sky.


	9. balanced on marble pillars

How much lower is she meant to sink? 

Tifa sits limp in the chair, shackled to her death. Shinra had saved her life once the hell of the Northern Crater by stitching her back together, transfusing her blood. Rufus Shinra had apparently carried her halfway there himself. But now they mean to execute her and Barret both, the last remaining heads of the once proud hydra of AVALANCHE. Cloud, well. Cloud is...dead. Maybe. Tifa can't imagine him surviving the explosion, or Sephiroth. Doesn't know if she wants him to have, if she's going to be honest with herself for once. 

What would he have to come back to? A liar for a best friend? A ruined Planet? Meteor? 

Hell, Tifa thinks, staring at the damning little key glittering just out of her reach. What does  _she_ have to look forward to? 

Well, death, for now. By gas chamber. After being struck by that squealing pig in high heels; scarlet? Oh, Tifa would  _love_ to show her what scarlet really means. But she can't, because she's trapped here in this fucking chair, in this fucking chamber, with cameras pointed at her so that the world can watch her writhe and die and be sated. So that Shinra can live another day with a clean slate. After everything they've done, Tifa thinks, her fury slowly building, how the hell can they just keep ducking out of the way of karma like this? Everything-- _everything!--_ is their fault! Wutai. Nibelheim. Corel. Rocket Town. Midgar.

Aerith's parents...

When Tifa hears gunfire and Barret's commanding roar, she jolts in her chair. "What the--?!"

A loud buzz to her left. Then a slow, steady hiss. The vents have opened and the gas is pouring in. 

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Tifa hisses. 

" _Tifa!_ " Barret bellows. " _Cait Sith's here! You just hang on and hold your breath! We'll get you out, I promise!"_

Tifa takes in a deep lungful of still clean air and holds it, fists clenching. The gas continues to pour in as the camera lights flare, recording every desperate moment. She trembles, fighting the burn in her lungs as long as she can before it explodes out of her in a cough. She inhales and it burns even  _worse_ , the gas searing. She has no choice; she tries to hold her breath again, eyes watering. Barret won't get her out in time, she knows that; if she can just get free, then she can hit that button, stop the gas...

If, if, if. For a dark moment, Tifa wonders if she shouldn't just...let it happen. Meteor is going to fall, Cloud is dead, her home is gone--

She coughs again. Hacks her way into another round, clean air becoming more and more scarce. And she remembers, as her lungs fry in her chest, that she has to get back to Aerith. She promised, after all. She promised. 

No way am I dying here, Tifa thinks, furious with herself. She  _does_ have something to move forward to. If she's going out, she's going out as someone worth remembering; not some broken spirited waif but a stubborn asshole who kept her promises in the end. It's all she can be. Tifa tries to sink down in the chair, reach that key with her feet, but her back twinges in sharp warning as she does so, and scrambling only makes it worse. If she pops her stitches? She's dead either way. 

Tifa takes a sharp few breaths while she's down low, though. It doesn't hurt as much as the poison seeping from above, so she savors the last few lungfuls before dragging one more breath in to hold as she sits back up proper. She turns her attention back to the bindings at her arms, squinting through the haze. They're not that thick; a SOLDIER could probably rip through them, or at least the hinges on those shackles, all things considered. Tifa isn't a SOLDIER by any means--but, she remembers, she's got at least a hint of what they put in those men. Jenova cells. Just enough to rip open her back, but maybe enough for just one more feat of strength. 

And hell. Tifa has broken through her limits before. She can sure as fuck do it again. 

 _Break it_ , Tifa thinks to herself as she plants both feet against the floor, muscles flexing.  _Break it. Break it. Break it. Break through--_

She strains, the metal digging into her skin. Her blood boils in her veins. 

 _Break through it!_ A hoarse scream lost in her own head, wrenching her arms and bracing up on her legs. Metal whines; sirens flash. Tifa blocks out the noise and the cameras and the invisible countdown, thinking only about seizing her limit, and  _snapping it over her knee_. She is  _not_ going to die here, not now, not for Shinra or her own guilt or anybody else. Her nails--grown out a little over the week long coma--dig deep into her palms, but Tifa doesn't feel the sting. Her oxygen starved body begs for a breath, but she won't allow it until she--

\-- _breaks--_

The metal bands around her arms creak and groan, the latches attached to the chair shrieking until with a pop and a snap they break under the force. Tifa goes shooting out of the chair, tumbling to the ground, and wheezes as she lays flat. There's still a little untainted air left, but not enough; even as she breathes it in more of the gas sneaks through, reminding her that she isn't out of the clear yet. She drags in a breath that tastes like death, and crawls on trembling arms and legs to the button, hitting it desperately. The vents close and the gas stops; but it's covering the room now. Tifa doesn't bother to try the door; her muscles feel like jelly, she just needs...

She needs a fucking  _miracle_ is what she needs. 

And strangely enough, she gets it. A beam of energy tears through the roof and leaves a deep wound in the metal, showing off the deep red sky. The gas is sucked out from the change in pressure and Tifa sputters as she drags in cold, clean, sea sweetened Junon air. She laughs and coughs at the same time, managing to balance up on her knees and soaking it in. The sounds of gunfire and screams, and the echoes of a thunderous canon, but for now she simply kneels and breathes it in. 

Someone slams on the door. Scarlet screeches from behind the metal. " _What are you doing in there?! Open up this instant!_ " 

Sneering, Tifa wobbles to her feet and taunts, "Do you want me in here or not? Make up your mind, why don't you!" 

The hatch squeaks. Tifa looks up at the tear in the metal, and back to the gas chamber, and makes up her mind. She takes a running start and scrambles up the wall until she gets her hands on the jagged edge, her gloves protecting them from the sharp metal, and pulls herself up and out with newfound strength. Sidling along the curve of an enormous dome, wind whipping around her, Tifa makes her way down the side as fast and safely as she can. Her shoes squeak against the metal; behind her, Scarlet callously throws her own men out of the way. One of them nearly catches Tifa on the way down, and she simply jumps herself, tucking and rolling as she lands on the muzzle of an enormous canon. 

Predictably, her wound hates that idea. Surprisingly, all it does is ache like a  _mother_. The stitches remain closed, despite it all; Tifa counts her blessings, picks herself up, and runs as fast as she can. She gets winded sooner than she'd like--but to her credit, she's just been through a fucking gas chamber and lived. So. 

She stops when the ache in her lungs is too severe, a black out threatening. She heaves and wretches, turns up nothing but air and spit, and drags her forearm over her nose and mouth. She's startled to see a streak of red. She touches her upper lip, near her nostrils, and pulls back to confirm her nosebleed. Either the strain from breaking her bonds or the gas or maybe a little a both. Whatever, Tifa thinks, and turns to face her enemies. Scarlet, flanked by two remaining Shinra grunts, saunters for her.  

Exhausted, but not down yet, Tifa stands tall. 

"Well, you may not die by gas chamber," Scarlet sneers, "but falling to your death into the ocean seems just as good. And just as  _inevitable_." 

"Oh, yeah?" Tifa cracks her neck. "Why don't you stop barkin' and show me your bite, old lady?" 

Scarlet holds up a hand to stay her men and marches up to Tifa, just as she wants. Tifa lets her get the first slap--"Not so stuck up  _now_ , are you?!" she hisses--and allows two more to crack across her cheeks. Once Scarlet gets haughty enough, careless enough, Tifa catches one wrist out of the air, jerks her arm up. Her fist lands Scarlet's solar plexus, so hard she hears a rib crack. In the same flurry, Tifa grabs her head in both hands and yanks Scarlet's face down as she brings her knee up. 

Another satisfying crunch. Scarlet wheels up, red pouring out of her nose, and Tifa winds her arm back and lets her punch connect. She snaps Scarlet's jaw--dislocated or broken--and from a choked spurt of blood Tifa can see a few teeth pop out too. 

"Next time actually punch me, idiot," Tifa says as Scarlet topples over on the canon, unconscious. 

The grunts look at her, then at each other. Greenhorns, Tifa can tell. Don't know what to do now that their big dog isn't around to bark orders. 

From behind her, on an intercom, Cid's voice reaches her prefaced by microphone feedback. " _Tifa! Git your ass over to the end right now!_ " 

Tifa spits in Scarlet's direction, turns, and runs. Gunfire chases her, sparks flying by her heels. Bullets whiz around her and Tifa has never been more grateful for Shinra's sloppy recruitment before now. As she sprints closer to the end of the canon, the propeller of the  _Highwind_ rise over the lip. When she sees Barret on the top deck, leaning over the railing, Tifa feels like she could cry. When she recognizes Aerith next to him, she nearly  _does_. 

"Get ready to jump, girl!" Barret roars. He throws over a red cable, dangling in the air. If Tifa had the time to stop and think about what she was about to do, she might consider this an absolutely terrible plan. But she has her promise, her future, standing right next to him and how hard can it be? 

Tifa leaps. Misses the rope at first, but manages to snag it at the last second. She kicks out, wraps the trailing length of it around one leg, one arm, locks her ankles together, and slams her eyes shut as her stomach drops. The  _Highwind_ rises, and Tifa can feel the rope being pulled up. When she gets the courage to open her eyes, Yuffie, Aerith, and Barret are ready to haul her over the railing. She lets them grab and pull her, and Yuffie falls flat on her back, rolls to her stomach, and pukes in celebration. Barret dances away from her sick with a muffled yell, and Aerith--

Aerith's got her arms around her, gasping. Tifa grips her around the waist and buries her face against her neck, shaking as the adrenaline starts to bleed out of her. She's covered in sweat and blood, pale as a sheet, her back feels like hell and her lungs like ash and her cheeks sting from Scarlet's handiwork, but she's  _alive_. 

"You're okay," Aerith whispers, dragging her fingers through Tifa's hair over and over again, petting her, patting over her, as if she's trying to convince herself too. "You're okay, we've got you, I've got you, you're  _okay_ oh thank the  _Planet_." 

"Wasn't ready for my TV debut, I guess," Tifa croaks weakly, trembling in Aerith's strong grip. She finally realizes that Aerith's got her hair pulled back, pinned up; a pink tank top sits under a deep red work shirt, paired with a dirt stained green apron and jeans besides. "What--what's with the--" 

"Disguse. To get the ship back." Aerith shakes her head. "Doesn't matter, are you okay?" 

"Lungs--lungs hurt a little," Tifa admits in a rasp. "Gas--poison..."

Aerith gathers her up. Their foreheads bump together, the familiarity of it making her heart pound. A brisk, invigorating wind whirls around her as Aerith's skin starts to glitter with magic, her lips moving silently in prayer. The strain of Tifa's lungs fade when she breaths in that sweetness, and the strain of her back eases immediately. She's still bone weary, but she feels so much  _better_ now that she can breathe. And yet, Tifa realizes, she doesn't want to breathe. 

She pulls away a little, one arm around Aerith's waist. She cups the other around the back of her neck, and Aerith's eyes flash open, sparkle, before her own fingers bury in Tifa's hair. 

Like always, they meet each other in the middle. It's not Tifa's first kiss by far, but now she finally feels the snap-crackle-pop of chemistry, chastely pressing her lips against Aerith's as they cling together. 


	10. magma under pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ this is the basis of aerith's look from now on ](http://78.media.tumblr.com/85bcebe6e5cd1728f2020fa7813ba023/tumblr_p1anb65wvP1r42jbeo1_400.png) also they Fuck

With Rufus Shinra's help, Aerith manages to get Tifa into the  _Highwind_ with little trouble. He leads them both into the infirmary on the ship, already barking orders for take off, for treatment, for  _movement_. Aerith is loathe to let Tifa out of her arms when she's so injured, but she has to; a team of nurses and doctors leave her no choice. They take Tifa away, dragging her into the room and shutting the door behind them. The little light above it burns bright red for emergency.

The sky is awash in darkness and light, and Aerith claps both hands over her ears as the Planet screams in agony, the feedback so sharp that she's almost brought to her knees. Rufus, again, reacts opposite of what she expected. 

He catches her beneath the arm, holds her steady while she grinds her teeth and shakes. Shockwaves from the explosion cause the  _Highwind_ to buck and weave, but it's a testament to Cid's own ship that it remains in the air at all, and soon stabilizes. Once they can stand straight, the volume of the Planet slowly lessens into mournful calls, a bearable lamentation if only because her ears aren't ringing anymore. Aerith slowly draws her hands away from her ears, letting out a tense breath. 

"Mr. President," a different nurse gasps, "are you injured?"

"No." Rufus peels off his suit jacket calmly. "The blood isn't mine. Same with the woman here." 

Aerith chances a look. Her gut roils seeing that his entire left side is painted bright red, so sodden that it looks black at the hem of his jacket. Then she looks at herself and lets out a tiny sound, broken. There's no saving this dress or her bolero jacket. Blood runs down her arm and leg in faint streams, already dried; but Aerith can feel it tacking on either side of her face, and she finally looks at her own hands. Covered. Buried under her nails. It's so much. 

Will Tifa even live through this? Aerith feels something in her go numb, staring sightlessly at her hands.

"There's more of it down the hall," Rufus says curtly. "Get someone to clean up the mess. I trust the patient will remain alive?"

"Ah, y-yes, sir. We have everything under control. We have mastered Restore Materia and plenty of blood--"

"Good. Inform me once she's stable." Rufus nods to Aerith once, then turns on his heel and walks away. Aerith watches him go, then drops her attention back to her hands. The nurse leaves and Aerith just...stands there. Empty. Drained. With Sephiroth holding back Holy, with the Weapons loose upon the Planet, with Meteor set to fall...

Aerith doesn't like to consider herself someone prone to losing hope. But she's feeling a little hopeless right now.

 _Tifa would tell you to be strong, wouldn't she?_ Aerith closes her eyes, clenches her fist. Was it really only so long ago that she was joking with Yuffie and the others? Talking about kissing Tifa, that it wouldn't be a first-and-last one. But now she might never get to. Now Tifa might die. Aerith feels her breath hitch and she's close to crying, when someone gently touches her arm to snap her out of it. 

It's the nurse again, a plastic bag tucked under her arm. 

"There's a shower stall close by," she says softly. "It's supposed to be for chemical washes but...I figure you'd get a better use out of it for now..." She offers the bag. "I brought you a change of clothes, too." 

"Oh." Aerith takes the bag. Loose scrubs. Meant for patients. Or experiments. Her skin crawls looking at them, but they're the better option right now. "I...thank you." 

She lets herself be led to the shower, and cleans herself. Cries during it because she can't get all of Tifa's blood out from her pores. Because the water is cold and raw and she scrubs with a rag and some clinical soap. Because the familiarity of slipping into those scrubs makes her want to puke as past hurts crawl up from the drain, ghostly cold tendrils brushing against her back. She can't salvage anything she was wearing at the time, save her boots, so she pops her feet into those and allows the nurse to escort her back to the infirmary proper. She takes a seat outside the door and waits. 

And waits. And waits. And when the light flicks to green she stands up, knees popping in protest. Only the doctor comes out at first, but there's very little blood on him and his face is weary, but satisfied. 

"She's stable," the doctor tells her. "We closed the wound properly and she's been given blood and Potions. You've got quite the fighter for a friend." 

"Can I--" Aerith licks her chapped lips. "Can I see her? Is it okay?" 

"I should say no," the doctor answers her honestly. "But," he turns his head away, humming, "you've been quiet as a doormouse. What I don't know won't hurt me." She hears him mutter  _hopefully_ , before he's gone, leaving the door open behind him.

Aerith ducks in and freezes up. Hojo stands by Tifa's head, reaching into his coat's pocket as he puts his hand on Tifa's face. He pries open one of her eyes, withdrawing a penlight from his pocket. Tifa's pupil contracts--Aerith's stomach turns a little to see it warp, slightly more oval in shape. Hojo clicks his tongue in disgust and draws away from her, his beady eyes finding Aerith's as he looks up. The smile that spreads over his face makes her sicks and she trembles. 

"Useless," he says after a moment. "She'd only be a viable sample if we put her back in my lab. I've never had the chance to see how the SOLDIER program would take to a female specimen--"

" _Get away from her._ " 

Hojo smothers a cackle in the back of his throat, slowly walking around Tifa's bed. He advances to her and Aerith bucks out of his way, her back to the wall, chills running up and down her spine. 

"Come now, girl. If that heap of flesh is useless to me, you're even more so. Now that we've proven there is no  _Promised Land_ , " Hojo spits, "there's no more reason to waste my resources on you." 

Aerith keeps circling him, until she's in between Hojo and Tifa. Her hand find's Tifa's and squeezes it. Hojo never tells the truth, Aerith has learned. Or, well, not the whole truth. Not what anyone really wants to hear. She stares him down, ready to beat him back with her bare hands if necessary. To keep herself safe--to keep Tifa safe--she'll do  _anything_. 

"You have your father's eyes," Hojo remarks, before he leaves.

And from there on, it gets worse. Tifa doesn't wake up in the day's flight it takes to return to Junon. She doesn't wake up as Shinra military take her and Barret away; as they evict the rest of the group, a parting "mercy" from Rufus that he doesn't have a bunch of "nobodies" arrested along with the last remaining members of AVALANCHE. They wander through the city of Junon, barter their way into an inn, and mourn what they can. Cloud; Tifa and Barret; for Cid, the  _Highwind_. 

Meteor grows in the sky like a curse as the week goes on. It's Cait Sith that comes to the rescue. 

_I have a plan._

They enact it at the end of the week, Meteor glowering above them as Shinra announces plans for a public execution of the villains of AVALANCHE. While he and Yuffie don disguises to infiltrate the 'event', Aerith and Red XIII don their own. Aerith has long since lost her old dress and her jacket; she gets some sturdy pants, her boots, a red and pink shirt, and a green gardener's apron. A bit of dirt smeared over everything, and her hair pulled back instead of in a braid, help to disguise her further. Yuffie lets them use the wagon she "appropriated", and Red XII plays the part of the obedient draf dog. Vincent and Cid are inside, among (empty) crates of fresh produce that Shinra takes on the  _Highwind_ once a week.

It shouldn't be as easy as it is, but the minute they take out the Shinra guards the crew helps in the revolt. The  _Highwind_ is theirs--and just in time. As Caith Sith and Yuffie help to bust Barret out, one of the Weapons attacks the city and it's terrible canon. Tifa's 'execution' has already begun, and Aerith can only hope they can stop everything in time. They crowd around a monitor, watching as Tifa thrashes in her restraints. 

And then  _breaks them_.

"Fuck yeah!" Yuffie whoops, the cameras catching Tifa breaking free. "Get it!  _Get it, Boobs!_ " 

And when they finally  _rescue_ her... 

When Tifa is back with them, with  _her_ , panting and exhausted but alive, and safe, and  _there_ , Aerith remembers how she felt just a week ago. A month ago. Since Tifa tossed that pretty hair in her pretty blue dress and finished her sentence with an easy smile. So when Tifa palms the back of her neck, her eyes burning, Aerith tangles her fingers in that wild short hair and drags her in too. And despite this being a desperate end-of-the-world flavored kiss, Aerith doesn't care, because it's Tifa kissing her. It's chaste and sweet, and Aerith gives her another at dinner when they park the  _Highwind_ , after Tifa's cleaned up and had some rest. 

And another, after dinner. And another, outside of the door to Aerith's cabin room. 

And another when Aerith drags her in. 

And another when Tifa's solid, sturdy weight captures her against the mattress, her hands dragging against Aerith's waist. 

And another. 


End file.
